Shanda
by Danja
Summary: An amnesiac Edison tries to keep a promise he made long ago. FINAL CHAPTER UP!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

* * *

STATIC

FADE IN:

"And five, four, three …" Murray counted down as he stood in the back of Network 23's controller bay. "Roll intro."

Theora sat at her computer, made a few keystrokes, and cued the intro to Edison Carter's "What I Want To Know Show".

* * *

"This is Edison Carter, coming to you live and direct from Warrington Heights, in the middle of a gang shootout," said Edison into the lens of his vidcam. Behind him lay an industrial wasteland of decaying, crumbling, semi-collapsed tenements and storefronts.

Intermittent gunfire rang out through the air.

"This fight in particular has been going on for the past two hours now," Edison continued.

* * *

"This is boring," Murray muttered as he stood behind Theora. He then asked Theora off-handedly, "Think you could get him to get us a corpse? It'd do wonders for the ratings."

Theora ignored Murray, her attention focused on Edison. She made a few keystrokes here and there, trimming the focus.

"We _SO_ need a corpse," Murray mused to himself.

* * *

All at once, an explosion sent Edison to the ground, unconscious. Static filled the overhead screen back at Network 23.

"GET MARTINEZ IN THERE _NOW!_" Murray roared. "I WANT FIRE E-M-S ON STANDBY!" He then ran out of the controller bay.

Theora glared at Murray as he ran out of the room.

_You wanted a corpse, _Theora thought acidly. _I just wish it wasn't Edison Carter's_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

A dazed Edison Carter woke up in the hospital bed.

_Where _AM _I? _he wondered. His head was swimming in pain and confusion.

_Explosion. _Edison squeezed his temples, trying to make sense of all this. _What the hell happened?_

He looked up at the clock on the wall. _Oh-eight-hundred hours._

All at once, Max Headroom suddenly appeared on the 32-inch flat screen TV hanging on the wall in front of his bed.

"Hi, guy!" Max announced cheerfully.

Edison let out a yelp and slid backwards in his bed, away from Max.

"Who _ARE_ you?" Edison exclaimed, his eyes bulging with fright.

"It's me … M-Max," Max replied from the screen, a confused expression on his face.

"I don't know any 'Max'," Edison spat out, his chest rising and falling.

"I thought we were f-f-friends ..."

"I'm not your friend!" Edison shot back angrily. His senses now on high alert, he noticed the IV in his wrist. He tore away the tape and ripped the IV out of his wrist.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you ..." Max cautioned.

"_FUCK YOU!_" Edison screamed, a trickle of blood flowing from his wrist.

_Shit, _he thought as he looked down at the blood running down his hand. He got out of bed, went to the bathroom, tore off a strip of toilet paper, and held it to his bleeding wrist.

_Gotta get away from that …_THING.

A nurse appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Carter, what are you doing?" she asked.

"_LEAVING!_" Edison snapped. "Where are my clothes?"

"In the cabinet over there," the nurse replied, pointing to a nearby cabinet. "You're in no condition to be discharged …"

Edison opened the cabinet and grabbed a plastic bag that contained his clothes and personal items. He opened the bag, pulled out his pants and underwear, and started getting dressed.

"No way I'm staying here with … _THAT!_" exclaimed Edison as he pointed towards Max.

* * *

"Edison has just left the hospital," said Max to Theora as he appeared on her computer screen at Network 23.

Theora looked up at Max. "Why would he leave?" she asked. "He's not due to be discharged."

"I d-d-dunno," Max replied. "I visited him in th-th-the hospital."

"You _WHAT?_" Theora exclaimed.

"I visited him in the hospital," Max continued. "Funny thing … he d-d-d-didn't seem t-to r-r-r-recogniz-z-ze m-me.

"I said 'Good morning'. N-next thing I kn-knew, he grabbed his clothes and l-l-left."

Theora's blood suddenly ran cold. _Oh, no. _She frantically made a few keystrokes and called up a vidphone on her monitor.

A nurse appeared on Theora's monitor. "Metro Hospital", she answered.

"Is Edison Carter there?"

"He left about a half-hour ago, against doctor's orders," the nurse replied.

"Thanks. That's all I needed to know," said Theora as she hung up the vidphone.

Theora stared at her monitor, all the air now having escaped her body.

_Just what Network 23 doesn't need, _Theora thought._ An expensive, amnesiac star reporter roaming the streets concussed._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

"We'll find him," said Murray to Ben Cheviot over the vidphone in Murray's office.

"See that you do," Cheviot replied. "If word of this ever got out …"

"I have Theora and Bryce working on this as we speak."

"Ratings are down ten percent as is!" Cheviot exclaimed. "God only knows _WHAT_ will happen if we can't get him back."

"We'll find him, I promise," said Murray, attempting to soothe Cheviot.

* * *

"Network 23," said the receptionist on the pay vidphone.

"This is Edison Carter. I need to speak to Gorrister," said Edison. He was on the street, on a pay vidphone outside of a bank. His clothes were a disheveled mess. He was wearing his blue watch cap (something he always kept in the pocket of his jacket … for times like these).

"I'm afraid that's not possible," the receptionist replied.

"Why not?"

A look of puzzlement crossed the receptionist's face. "Mr. Carter … Mr. Gorrister has been dead for three years."

"WHAT?" _Gorrister ... Dead?_

"I'll patch you through to Control …"

Edison slammed the receiver down on its cradle, hanging up the vidphone before the receptionist could do anything. He then turned and walked away.

_No time for that, _he thought. _Shanda needs me._

* * *

All the while, Edison's Network 23 ID card sat in his wallet.

A tracking chip embedded in his ID card emitted a silent signal.

* * *

Three blocks away, Theora sat in her car, tracking Edison's movements on a smartphone. Today, she wore a pair of chic wire-rimmed sunglasses.

Her smartphone rang. Network 23.

"Theora," she answered the phone.

"Just got a call from Reception," said Murray on the other end of the line. "Edison called, asking about Gorrister."

Theora shook her head. _Not good._

* * *

Five blocks away, Edison ran down the street, turned a corner, and walked down a flight of stairs that ran below the street into a subway station.

* * *

_Damn,_ Theora swore to herself. _I've lost the signal._

"Bryce, I've lost Edison," said Theora. She tapped her smartphone and added, "He went down into the Number Five subway terminal."

"Hold on, I'll patch into the securicam system," replied Bryce back at Network 23.

Theora tapped her smartphone. "Next subway is Number Five northbound," she said. "Should be here in ten minutes." With a few more taps on her smartphone, she called up a map of the Number Five line.

"Are there any places within walking distance of the line that might be of interest to Edison?" Theora asked Bryce. "Past residences? Known associates?"

Bryce made a few keystrokes. "Negative," he replied, shaking his head. "Nothing here I can see. Nothing within walking distance." He then added, "I don't see why you don't just chase him and grab him."

"He's been on the run now for ninety minutes," Theora explained. "Eventually, he's going to get tired and stop.

"When he does, that's when I'll make my move."

* * *

Below street level, Edison stuck a credit tube into the turnstile, walked through the turnstile, and got onto the subway.

* * *

A securicam image of Edison getting onto the subway appeared on Theora's smartphone.

"He's just boarded the subway," said Bryce, stating the obvious.

_I can _SEE_ that,_ grumbled Theora to herself. She then started her car and said, "Moving on. Theora out."

* * *

Edison sat down on the subway, massaging his sore knees.

"Lowell Avenue," announced the driver over a loudspeaker.

Edison grimaced in pain. _I don't know how much more of this I can take._

* * *

Theora switched back-and-forth between Edison in the subway and the map of the subway line.

_Subway ends at Bridgegate Mall,_ she thought. _Lowell Avenue is the last stop before Bridgegate._

* * *

"Bridgegate Mall", announced the driver over the loudspeaker. "Last stop. All out."

Edison got up from his seat on the subway and staggered out into the terminal, his knees screaming in pain.

_Gotta sit down,_ he thought. _Gotta rest._

Edison collapsed onto a nearby bench. He held his head in his hands and squeezed his temples._  
_

_OK,_ NOW _what?_

A female voice cried out "_EDISON!_".

Edison looked up and saw Theora standing before him, grabbing his wrist

"Who are you?" Edison asked, too tired to do anything more. "How do you know my name?"

P_robably a fan,_ Edison thought. _You_ ARE _on TV, after all._

Theora reached into her purse, produced a black leather ID case, and flashed her Network 23 ID card.

"My name is Theora Jones. I'm with Network 23," she said, gasping for breath. "I'm your controller."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

* * *

"Thanks, I really appreciate this," said Edison to Theora over lunch at Holy Chow!, a Chinese take-out place that was a few blocks away from Bridgegate Mall.

Theora smiled. "You're welcome," she said. Edison was having his usual kung pao chicken. Theora was having her usual sweet-and-sour chicken with fried rice.

_Him and his kung pao chicken, _Theora thought with a bemused grin. _I might have known he'd order that._

_Some things never change._

"Not much for ZikZak, huh?" asked Edison.

"I don't know what's in there … and I don't _WANT_ to know what's in there," Theora replied firmly.

"I hear their burgers are great for cleaning sinks," joked Edison.

Theora grimaced and let out a snort, trying to hold back a laugh.

"How did Gorrister die?" Edison asked, changing the subject.

Theora swallowed and replied, "Heart failure."

Edison shook his head. "Figures," he said. He then took a bite of kung pao chicken and added, "Guy smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish.

"I guess I shouldn't have been surprised."

"Who's Shanda?" Theora asked.

Edison looked up. "What?"

"Who's Shanda?" Theora repeated. "You kept mentioning her name on the way over."

Edison looked down at his kung pao chicken. "Long story," he said, dragging his fork absentmindedly through the chicken on his plate.

"Is that why you ran from the hospital?" Theora asked.

Edison looked up at Theora and replied, "A long, _UNFINISHED_ story."

"Care to talk about it?"

Edison stared at his plate in silence.

"How long ago was this?" Theora asked, pressing on.

"Three years ago," Edison replied. He then caught himself and added, "If Gorrister's been dead for three years …"

"It'd be more like _SIX_ years ago now," said Theora, doing the math.

"Has it really been _THAT_ long?"

"Edison, you're not well," cautioned Theora. "This is not the time to be chasing after a story … _ANY_ story.

"_ESPECIALLY_ one that's six years old."

Edison let out a breath. "Her name was Shanda McGregor," he said. "She was sixteen … murdered in cold blood.

"Promised her I'd find her killer."

"Edison, you're a reporter, not a police officer!" exclaimed Theora. "It's not your job to catch criminals." Theora paused. "Let it go."

"I can't …"

"You have to," said Theora. "Your job is to _REPORT_ the news, not to be a _PART_ of it!

"I shouldn't have to be telling you this."

"It's been gnawing at me … six years now," said Edison. "I was _SO_ close!"

"What do you mean?" asked Theora.

"They found the gun that was used in the murder ... but they never found the barrel," said Edison. "They can't link the guy to the murder."

"Who's 'they'? " Theora inquired.

"They … Sheriff's Office," said Edison. "Taylor County."

Theora drummed her fingers on the table and let out a breath. _Taylor County_, she thought. _It just _HAD _to be Taylor County._

_Small, rural … everyone knows everyone else. Good luck getting a conviction there._

"So you're telling me this girl was shot?" Theora asked, getting back to the subject.

Edison nodded. "Three shots," he said. "She was cremated before they could do an autopsy."

Theora frowned. "That's illegal," she said. "In this state, if there's a suspicion of foul play as a cause of death ..."

"An autopsy is mandatory," said Edison, completing Theora's sentence.

"How do you know she was shot three times?"

"That's how many bullets the funeral home found in her ashes," Edison replied.

Theora stared at Edison. _I don't want to do this, _she thought.

_At the same time, knowing Edison ... if I'm not there, he'll run off and do this on his own without me._

_That ... _WOULD _be dangerous._

"Sounds interesting," she said finally.

Edison smirked and said, "I thought you said 'Let it go'."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

* * *

Back at Network 23, Theora typed the name "Shanda McGregor" into the network's search engine (what the Network unofficially called "The Morgue" … where unfinished stories went to die).

"It says here that the prime suspect was a man named Robert Fisk," she said. "Ring any bells?"

* * *

"_This is Edison Carter, coming to you live and direct from Taylor County on Network 23," ___Edison narrated off-camera. As he _panned his camera, he took in a scene that was comprised of a white double-wide trailer and a garage. _

_A white pickup truck sat parked in the driveway that led to the garage. The name "Fisk Painting" was marked on the side of the truck in large black, bold lettering.  
_

_Edison walked towards the trailer as he continued his off-camera narration. _ "_We're now at the home of one Robert Fisk ..."  
_

_All at once, a gangly young man in his late twenties wearing torn, dirty blue jeans, a red, grease-stained t-shirt, and a red baseball cap charged towards Edison and his camera, wielding and cocking a twelve-gauge shotgun._

"_Mr. Fisk …" Edison began._

"_I TOL' YOU, GET THE HELL OFF MY PROPERTY!" Fisk drawled angrily, waving his shotgun menacingly at Edison._

* * *

"You might say that," Edison replied dryly, peering over Theora's shoulder at her computer monitor.

Theora made a few keystrokes, calling up the state's vehicle registration database. "Fisk … Robert … Taylor County," she said, reading Fisk's vehicle registration file. "He has a truck and two ATV's registered to him."

Theora made a few more keystrokes, calling up the state's professional licensing database. "He owns a painting business …" she said.

"I vaguely recall seeing a pickup truck in the driveway," Edison replied, shaking his head.

Theora made a few keystrokes. "He's operating with a stolen contractor's license number," she said, staring at the screen.

"_WHAT?" _Edison exclaimed.

"He stole the number from a contractor in Hamilton County," said Theora.

"What's he doing operating with a stolen number?" Edison asked.

Theora looked up at Edison. "That's assuming he's running a business ... _AT ALL,_" she said.

A knot began to form in Edison's stomach. "What do you mean?"

Theora turned her chair around to face Edison. "Could be a cover for something," she said.

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Theora replied. She then added, "More than likely ... something ... _ILLEGAL."_

"What are we talking about?"

Theora shrugged her shoulders. "Drugs ... guns ... bootlegging … could be any number of things."

"You're good," said Edison with a smile.

"Better than Gorrister!" exclaimed Max as he suddenly appeared on Theora's monitor.

Edison took a step backwards. "You!" he exclaimed, pointing at Max. "You're that thing from the hospital!"

"You know, I'm _REALLY _getting tired of this 'Th-Th-Thing' thing," Max stuttered angrily.

_Here goes, _Theora thought. She then sighed and said, refereeing between Max and Edison, "Edison, I want you to meet ... Max Headroom."

Edison put his hands on his hips. "Who … or _what_ … is this … 'Max Headroom'?" he asked, spitting out the words and framing the name "Max Headroom" in air quotes.

Theora paused for a moment, searching for an answer. "Max … is _YOU_."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

* * *

An unmarked black rental car traveled down a remote, moonlit road. To the right of the car stood a forest of pine trees. To the left sat pasture lands dotted with stands of pine trees here and there. Cows stood grazing in the distance.

Inside the car, Edison Carter drove. Theora sat in the passenger seat. She carried a bundle wrapped in a plastic grocery bag in her lap.

"Probably feels good getting out from behind your computer, huh?" Edison asked brightly, trying to make conversation.

"It's a change," Theora replied quietly, staring at the road ahead. She then glanced at Edison and said, "I just wish this was under better circumstances."

"For someone who talks for a living, you haven't hardly said a word since we left Metro City," said Edison.

After a long silence, Theora said, "Just don't feel like talking."

* * *

"_Pulled up the guy's financial records. He hasn't bought one gallon of paint for the past three years," said Bryce to Edison and Theora earlier that day in his lab._

"_A paint contractor who's never bought paint. Interesting," mused Edison. He and Theora stood behind Bryce, looking over Bryce's shoulder as Bryce sat at his computer._

"_For the past three years, he's only bought one thing … acetone," Bryce continued. "Buys it by the case."_

_Bryce glanced at Edison and Theora. "Who uses that much acetone?" he asked._

"_Try someone who's making meth," Theora replied._

"_Meth?" Bryce inquired._

"_It's a key ingredient." _

_Edison and Bryce suddenly turned their heads and stared at Theora. A heavy silence hung in the air over the three of them._

"_What?" Theora interjected as she noticed Bryce and Edison staring at her._

_What _HAS _this woman _BEEN_ through? Edison and Bryce wondered. What does she know that _WE_ don't?_

"_That would explain a lot," said Edison as he turned his head back towards Bryce's computer. _

_It might explain why Shanda was murdered, Edison thought. She got too close._

_Knew too much._

"_Pulled up something else," said Bryce. "Fisk … or rather I should say, his 'company' …" Bryce framed the word "company" in air quotes. "…is renting storage units in three different counties … Taylor, Hamilton, and Washington counties."_

* * *

"We're here," said Edison as he pulled up to the gate of Hudson's U-Stor-It in Washington County.

Edison and Theora had decided early on to investigate the units in Washington and Hamilton counties first. Going after Fisk's unit in Taylor County - Fisk's home turf - carried with it the risk of tipping him off.

The two found themselves parked in front of a black wrought-iron security gate. Sitting just in front of the gate (and right next to the driver-side door) was a palm scanner.

_Great, _Edison thought. _So much for getting in _HERE_ tonight._

"Bryce", said Edison into a (Network 23 issue) smartphone. "They've got a palm scanner. I can't get in."

"Hold on," Bryce replied. "I'll set it up."

"_Set it up?" _thought Edison, now thoroughly bewildered. _HOW?_

"Put your hand on the scanner," said Bryce over the phone.

"WHAT?" Edison exclaimed.

"Put your hand on the scanner," Bryce repeated calmly over the phone.

"It'll set off the alarm!" Edison protested.

"No, it won't," Bryce countered. "Trust me."

Theora gently put her hand on Edison's knee. "Edison …" she said quietly, looking at Edison..

Edison looked at Theora. "What?"

"I'm sure he has a plan," Theora said coolly. "I doubt he would be asking you to do this if he didn't."

Edison rolled his eyes and heaved a loud sigh of exasperation. "I can't believe I'm doing this,_" _he grumbled as he rolled down the window and slammed his left palm onto the scanner panel. _  
_

The machine emitted a low hum as a band of glowing green light passed underneath Edison's palm, scanning.

All at once, the gate raised up. A soft, feminine, computer-generated voice issued forth from a speaker on the scanner unit, "Identity … Confirmed. Welcome … Robert … Fisk."

Edison stared wide-eyed at the now-open gate. "I don't believe it," he exclaimed as he drove through the gate and into the center.

* * *

"Explain to me how you did that," said Edison to Bryce over the phone as he and Theora drove through the maze of storage units.

"I hacked the scanner," Bryce replied proudly.

_Okaaaaaaay. _"_BEYOND_ that," said Edison, asking for clarification.

"A palm scan is essentially a data file," Bryce explained. "I took a snapshot of your palm …"

"… And swapped out Fisk's," said Edison, finishing Bryce's sentence.

"Exactly," said Bryce. He then added, "Essentially, the system thinks _YOU'RE_ Fisk."

_Interesting, _Edison thought. He then asked, "Where's his unit?"

"Number Eighteen," Bryce replied. "Make a right."

Edison turned and drove ahead for a while. _Thirteen ... Fourteen ... Fifteen ..._ he counted off silently as the two them drove by.

"Stop here," Theora commanded.

Edison pulled the car to a stop. Theora and Edison both got out, Theora carrying the bundle in the plastic grocery bag.

"We're here," said Edison. Unit Number Eighteen sat to Edison and Theora's right.

Edison and Theora walked up to the door. The unit was secured by a sliding bolt and a heavy-duty padlock.

"Rather primitive for a guy that has a palm-scan system," Edison mused, commenting on the padlocked unit.

Theora pulled a dark blue vinyl pouch out of the grocery bag and opened the zipper. "People don't always pay their bills," she said as she felt around inside the pouch. "When the renters stop paying, the management auctions off the contents of the unit."

"I suppose it's a lot easier to cut off a lock than to try and fool around with a keypad or something like that," Edison commented as Theora pulled out a small LED flashlight. She switched on the flashlight and held it in her mouth, shining the beam into the pouch.

"Here, lemme get that," said Edison, gently taking the flashlight out of Theora's mouth and shining it into the pouch for her.

"Thanks," said Theora as she took a small metal probe out of the pouch.

_Burglar tools ... a controller who carries burglar tools ..._ Edison thought as Theora picked the padlock with the probe. Edison shined the flashlight on the lock for Theora.

_I'm the luckiest reporter in the world._

With a tug from Theora, the padlock opened. "Got it," she said. "We're in."

* * *

Edison and Theora were now inside the unit. Theora shined the beam around the unit, Edison's camera now in night-vision mode.

The walls were stacked to the rafters with large cardboard boxes; each box was stamped with the word "ACETONE" on the side in large black, bold lettering.

"Acetone ... Acetone ... Acetone," Edison muttered as he panned the camera around the unit. "For a guy who hasn't bought a can of paint in three years, guy sure has a lot of acetone."

"Here's a duffel bag," said Theora, shining the flashlight on a large black duffel bag sitting on the floor.

"Open it," said Edison. "Let's see what's inside."

Theora unzipped the bag. The bag was stuffed with Zip-Loc sandwich bags filled with crystal meth.

Theora pulled out a bag and showed it to Edison. "Meth," she said.

Edison grinned broadly. _ Bingo,_ he thought triumphantly. _Nailed him._

_Nailed his ass._

"Put it away and let's go," said Edison to Theora. "We've got what we came for."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

"Guy's got a ton of acetone," said Edison. He and Theora were now back at Network 23. "What else do we have on him?"

"The cremation was handled by a 'Sullivan Brothers Funeral Home'," Theora replied, reading from her computer screen. "Funeral Director, Tom Sullivan."

Edison crossed his arms across his chest. "If only we could get Tom to talk," he said. "Tie him to Fisk directly."

Theora got up from her computer terminal, grabbed her smartphone, and walked away.

"Where you going?" Edison asked after Theora.

"Going to make some phone calls," Theora replied as she walked out of the controller bay.

* * *

Now safely out of the controller bay (and out of Edison's earshot), Theora dialed a number on her smartphone.

"Nicky? It's Angel," said Theora. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor …"

* * *

Benjamin Nicholas "Nicky" Shannon was a con man-slash-petty thief-slash-Theora's-on-again-off-again-boyfriend-slash-paid government informant with kinda-sorta rumored Mob connections.

(No one spoke of The Mob _per se _in Metro City. It was usually spoken of in terms of being "Our Friends on the North Side".)

This day, Nicky was standing in the office of one Tom Sullivan, Funeral Director of Sullivan Brothers Funeral Home.

Nicky was tall, lean-but-trim, and in his late twenties. He had close-cropped reddish-brown hair and blue-gray eyes. Today, he was wearing a black three-piece suit with a white dress shirt and black wingtip shoes.

Every bit the gangster straight out of Central Casting.

Tom Sullivan was a geeky, balding, pasty-faced man in his late forties. He stood behind his desk, staring into the face of Nicky Shannon.

"How can I help you?" Tom asked Nicky.

"I have some business that needs taken care of," Nicky replied. He produced three long credit tubes out of his inside coat pocket and set them down on Tom's desk. "I hear you're the best."

"Thank you," Tom replied nervously. He then added, "What sort of business are we talking about here?"

Nicky leaned over Tom's desk and said, "I want you … to give me … what you gave Fisk."

"Who's Fisk?" Tom asked. "I've dealt with a lot of Fisks in my day …"

Nicky slammed his palm down onto Tom's desk and roared, _"YOU _KNOW_ WHO I'M TALKIN' ABOUT!" _He then added, "Do I have to spell it out for you?

"_FISK! ROBERT FISK! HE _REFERRED _ME TO YOU! HE SAID YOU'RE THE BEST!"_

* * *

In an unmarked van that was parked in a remote location some distance removed from the Sullivan Brothers Funeral Home, two plainclothes FBI agents were listening to the (wired) Nicky Shannon vent his fury in Tom's (bugged) office.

The agents wore black over-the-ear headphones and were recording Nicky and Tom's conversation on a laptop computer and jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad.

* * *

"Best at _WHAT?_" Tom sputtered, his face quavering. _Oh, no, _he thought.

Nicky dropped his voice to a low whisper. "Making people … _disappear_," he said, glaring at Tom and splaying his hands in the air for emphasis.

"How so?" Tom asked. Big mistake.

"I know about Fisk," Nicky growled. "I know about Shanda McGregor … and I know what you did with her …"

"_GET OUT!" _Tom bellowed, pointing his finger at the door over Nicky's left shoulder.

Nicky stood up straight and pulled back the front of his jacket to reveal a Cobra .38 revolver in a shoulder holster.

Nicky pointed at Tom and growled, "Don't _EVER_ raise your voice at me again". He then gathered up the credit tubes, put them back in his inside coat pocket, turned on one heel, and left Tom's office.

"Sorry we couldn't do business," said Nicky as he walked out the door.

After Nicky had left, Tom reached into a desk drawer, pulled out a handkerchief, and nervously wiped his brow. He then grabbed a cell phone that was sitting on his desk and frantically dialed a number.

"Helloo?" drawled a male voice on the other end of the line.

"Bobby? It's Tom. What the hell are you doing?" Tom spat out into the cell phone.

"What're talkin' `bout?"

"Who've you been talking to?" Tom barked into the phone.

"I don't understand …"

"I had a guy come in from the city. He wanted the same deal I gave you," said Tom. "He wanted me to do for him what I did with Shanda McGregor. Offered me a ton of credits to do it too."

"You on a cell phone?" Fisk asked.

"Yeah … why?" Tom inquired.

"That's good," Fisk replied. "They can't record cell phone conversations."

* * *

The two plainclothes FBI agents sat in their van, quietly listening to and recording Tom Sullivan's and Robert Fisk's cell phone conversation.

* * *

"I did you a favor … and this is the _THANKS_ I get!" Tom shrieked into the phone, tacitly admitting that he had cremated Shanda's body (and destroyed evidence of a murder in the process).

"Don't pin this one on me!" Fisk snapped, the veins in his neck bulging with rage. He was standing in his driveway next to the back of his pickup truck

"Who the hell else knows?" Tom screamed on the other end of the line, panicking.

"She had to go," Fisk said icily. "She knew too much."

"I could go to fricking _JAIL _for this!"

Fisk drummed his fingers on the back of his pickup truck, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring.

_This has Edison Carter written _ALL _over it_, he thought.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

A swarm of FBI agents wearing navy blue windbreakers surged into Tom Sullivan's office.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sullivan," said the receptionist apologetically as she opened the door for the agents.

"Special Agent Mathis … FBI," said one agent as he flashed his badge.

Tom stood up behind his desk and asked, "What's this about?"

"I think you know," Mathis replied as he put his badge away. "We have a warrant for your arrest."

"On what _CHARGE?_" exclaimed Sullivan angrily as three other agents stood behind him, frisking him for weapons and cuffing his hands behind his back.

"The murder of Shanda McGregor," Mathis replied.

"_WHAT?!" _Tom ejaculated. "_I _didn't kill her!"

"You destroyed evidence of a murder … which makes you an _accomplice_ to murder," Agent Mathis replied calmly. Reading Sullivan his rights, he then intoned, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law …"

* * *

Over in Washington County, white hazmat-suit-clad FBI and DEA agents raided Unit Number Eighteen at Hudson's U-Stor-It.

The agents carried out cases of acetone and black duffel bags stuffed with Zip-Loc bags full of crystal meth.

* * *

"_DEA! SEARCH WARRANT!" _the leader of the SWAT team shouted as he kicked in the door to Fisk's trailer.

Edison stood off to one side, filming the raid on Fisk's trailer. Theora stood next to him holding a light gun.

The SWAT team surged forward into the trailer, the air was suddenly filled with the sound of exploding flash-bang grenades.

All around Edison and Theora, FBI and DEA agents clad variously in blue windbreakers and white hazmat suits swarmed onto the property.

As the SWAT team led the now-handcuffed Fisk out of his trailer, Edison went to work.

"Mr. Fisk, would you care to comment?" Edison asked Fisk as he filmed him being led out of the trailer.

"Talk to my attorney," Fisk growled as the SWAT team led him away.

* * *

A small flower pot filled with African violets suddenly caught Theora's eye.

She tapped a nearby agent on the shoulder and said discreetly, "Excuse me …"

The agent turned towards Theora with a grunt and replied, "What?"

Theora pointed towards the flower pot and said, "If I'm not mistaken, he's using a gun barrel as a plant stake."

The agent marched over to the flower pot. Theora tapped Edison on the shoulder, indicating him to follow.

The three came upon a blued metal gun barrel sticking out of the flower pot.

"_SIMMONS!" _the agent yelled out to a nearby colleague. _"GET FORENSICS OVER HERE!"_

The agent pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of the pocket of his jacket and put them on. He picked up the flower pot and examined the barrel.

"Colt M1991A1 ... 45-caliber", the agent muttered as he set the flower pot back down.

_Same caliber ammo that killed Shanda, _Edison thought.

* * *

"And so ends our tale of meth, murder, and mayhem in a small town," Edison narrated off-camera. Agents clad in white hazmat suits emerged from the woods behind Fisk's trailer pulling hand trucks laden with cardboard boxes and blue plastic fifty-gallon drums.

All the makings of a meth lab.

"This is Edison Carter, coming to you live and direct from Taylor County on Network 23," he concluded, signing off.

* * *

"And we're out!" Murray commanded back in the controller bay at Network 23. "Nice job, you two."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

"Something I wanted you to see," said Edison. He and Theora were in in a small country cemetery, standing over Shanda McGregor's headstone.

"This has never happened to me before," said Theora.

"What do you mean?" Edison inquired.

"Me being so ... _involved_ ... in a story," Theora replied, shaking her head. "I mean, normally, I try to keep my distance.

"For some reason, this story just … _DID_ something … to me."

After a long pause, Theora continued. "I don't like doing this. It's … _unprofessional_."

"If it hadn't been for you, Shanda's killer would still be walking free," Edison reminded Theora. "I couldn't have done this without you.

"I had a puzzle with missing pieces. You filled in the gaps." After a pause, Edison then added, "Gorrister didn't have your skills."

_Or your burglar tools, _Edison thought with a quiet smile.

"I guess as time went on, I wanted this as badly as you did," said Theora.

Edison clapped a hand on Theora's shoulder. "Thanks for your help," he said.

Theora smiled. She and Edison stared at Shanda's headstone in silence.

THE END


End file.
